


The Second Hand Unwinds

by shes_gone, tailoredshirt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Domestic, M/M, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-13
Updated: 2008-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shes_gone/pseuds/shes_gone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tailoredshirt/pseuds/tailoredshirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Harry felt the first genuine smile he'd worn all day slide onto his face as Ron scraped his fork over his plate and carefully licked the utensil clean.</i> (Inspired by the work of <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/"></a><b>reallycorking</b>; includes embedded art that is <b>Not Worksafe</b>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Second Hand Unwinds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magicofisis](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=magicofisis), [reallycorking](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=reallycorking).
  * Inspired by [Desperation is a Tender Trap](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/13615) by reallycorking. 



> So, so many thanks to [](http://cork.insanejournal.com/profile)[**cork**](http://cork.insanejournal.com/), for obvious reasons, and to [](http://nathaniel-hp.insanejournal.com/profile)[**nathaniel_hp**](http://nathaniel-hp.insanejournal.com/) and [](http://foretinterdite.insanejournal.com/profile)[](http://foretinterdite.insanejournal.com/)**foretinterdite** , for the beta & Britpick. Mwah!

The lift was broken and had been for months. This was inconvenient and frustrating, of course, but for the tenants of 43 Albion Street, it was particularly exasperating. Any one of them could have repaired it with a simple swish and flick, were it not for the complicated anti-tampering charms on the circuitry.

Harry climbed the last step and sagged against the wall, fishing around in his trouser pockets for his keys. Their building was noted for its extensive security measures – which was a large part of why they'd moved there in the first place – but on days like this, Harry wanted nothing more than to do away with the wards and Apparate straight up to the sixth floor. Or give the absentee caretaker a piece of his mind with a well-timed Bat-Bogey hex.

Inside the flat, the lights were on, and the air smelled faintly of garlic and herbs. He could hear someone rattling around in the kitchen as the wireless blared on in the living room, reporting on the Cannons-Kestrels game. Harry dropped his briefcase onto the chair next to the door and made his way into the kitchen.

Ron stood at the counter, drinking from a glass of water. He was still dressed for work, but he'd rolled up the sleeves of his pale blue button-down shirt to expose forearms dusted with red hair. When Harry stepped into the room, he looked up and nodded in silent greeting.

"Sorry I'm late," said Harry, peeling off his cloak and draping it over the nearest chair.

Ron shot him a sympathetic smile. "No worries, mate. Figured you would be." He paused. "Thought you'd be hungry, too."

Harry's eyes flickered over to the pair of plates at the end of the counter, both heaped with fat slices of roast beef and potatoes. His stomach suddenly gurgled, and he realised he hadn't eaten since breakfast. "You heard, then?" he asked.

"Heard a few rumours today, yeah." Ron leaned against the counter and held Harry's gaze.

Harry's chest tightened. "We found him, Ron. Mulciber." The last of the known Death Eaters. "We finally found him." He licked his lips and took a breath, trying to sort the past twelve hours into something coherent.

But Ron didn't seem to expect anything more, and a warm, proud grin appeared on his face. "Have a seat, mate," he said. "I'd say you could use a good meal right about now."

The knot in Harry's chest loosened a bit, and he almost smiled as Ron reached for the bottle of Ogden's on the counter. He accepted the drink Ron poured, and watched as he brought the two large plates of food to the table.

"Thanks, Ron," he said. "Smells great."

They ate in silence for several minutes, both quickly putting sizable dents in their piles of food. Harry paused to enjoy the sensation of his hunger fading and took a long sip of his Firewhiskey. He felt it burn its way down his throat and closed his eyes. The image of Mulciber chained to his seat, sneering at the emergency gathering of the Wizengamot seemed to be burned into the backs of his eyelids.

Harry opened his eyes with a grimace, and took another sip. He knew he should be pleased; he should be celebrating. At the very least, he should feel relieved, after the apprehension of a man he and the rest of the Aurors had been working to locate for the better part of a decade.

He knew he should be pleased, but he couldn't quite manage it. He was just tired.

As he set his glass down, Harry's gaze slid across the table to Ron, who was hunched over his plate, shovelling food into his mouth. The image was a familiar one, and he might have been sixteen and sitting at the long Gryffindor table, rather than a fully grown man, at their tiny table for two.

Harry felt the first genuine smile he'd worn all day slide onto his face as Ron scraped his fork over his plate and carefully licked the utensil clean. His blue eyes flickered up to Harry's as he set his fork down. "What?" he asked, with a small smirk.

Harry just looked at him a moment. "Nothing," he said. Under the table, something that might have been Ron's foot nudged against Harry's shoe, and Harry pressed back. "So how was your day?" he asked. "Any more movement on those referee accusations?"

Ron shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Not really. Those idiots are claiming that half of last year's matches were fixed. Half! Of all League games. As if something on that scale would've gone unnoticed this long. We have to investigate, of course, but-" He sighed. "Waste of bloody time."

"What would happen if it turned out to be true?"

Ron shrugged. "We'd have to take back Ballycastle's Cup, for a start. I'm honestly not even sure how far we'd have to go. Would depend on how much proof they had, I suppose." He paused and gave Harry a small smirk. "Reckon we got a bit lucky today - all the public's attentions'll be back on the Auror Department for a while. Should push Games'n Sports out of the spotlight, and give us a chance to sort our heads out, before anyone remembers they're mad at us."

Harry gave a chuckle and a wry smile. "Glad of that, at least," he said, before picking up his fork and taking another few small mouthfuls.

Harry ate and Ron sipped his Firewhiskey in silence for a minute or so, before Harry felt Ron nudging at his foot again.

"So, is it done, mate? Is it over?" he asked quietly.

Harry looked up at Ron's earnest but cautious eyes, and sighed. "Yeah," he said. He imagined Mulciber strutting around the tiny cell where he'd spend the rest of his natural life. There hadn't been need of a trial, his convictions from the first war still stood and were enough to put him away forever. "It's done."

"And the Muggles he was holding?"

"Safe. Home. Memories modified."

Ron put his elbows on the table and leaned towards Harry. "Good work, mate. That's some really bloody good work."

Harry gave a small smile and returned his attentions to poking at his food, still feeling Ron's gaze on him.

"The food OK?" Ron asked, after a long moment.

"Delicious," Harry answered, looking up again. "Thanks."

"Well, hurry up and eat, then! The Cannons were gaining momentum before the Kestrels' time out, and I don't want the dishes still clanging around in the sink when they resume play. Got a good feeling, tonight."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." As if on cue, the announcer's voice called out from the lounge, heralding the players' return to the pitch.

"You go on then," Harry said, chuckling. "I'll do the washing up and be out in a minute."

Ron beamed at him and stood, quickly depositing his own empty plate in the sink and topping off both glasses of Firewhiskey.

He leaned down and placed a kiss to Harry's temple before disappearing into the lounge.

**xXx**

  
"Harry," a deep, gentle voice prodded. "Harry, mate, wake up."

Harry gave a small jerk as he woke and blinked confusedly for a few moments. He was sprawled on the sofa next to Ron. The lights in the lounge were low, their glasses of Firewhiskey sat empty on the coffee table, and the wireless was silent.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "D'I fall asleep?"

Ron chuckled. "Think so."

"How'd the match turn out?"

Ron's smile disappeared. "How d'you think?"

"Sorry," Harry said, wrinkling his nose. "I'm sure they'll pull the next one out for you."

Ron snorted. "From your lips, mate." He sighed and nudged at Harry's knee with his thigh. "What do you say, Sleeping Beauty? Shall we?"

Harry knocked his knee against Ron's thigh rather hard. "Prat," he said, rolling his eyes. "But, yeah, I think it's-" his answer was interrupted as he yawned, "-bedtime."

Ron chuckled and stood, offering Harry a hand up.

In the bathroom, Harry gave a small start at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were dull and bloodshot behind his glasses, and seemed ready to sink into the dark bags beneath them. He looked tired and old - hell, he practically looked dead, save for the pink tinge of his cheeks, equal parts liquor and fatigue.

He took off his glasses and sighed, rubbing his hands over his face roughly and wondering by what miracle it was that Ron welcomed him into his bed each night, looking as haggard as he did.

He walked into the bedroom minutes later, licking his lips with a minty fresh tongue and determinedly thinking of little besides the comfort of bed, soft and warm and full of Ron. Ron himself was standing across the room, toeing off his shoes and pulling his shirt over his head.

Ron tossed his shirt onto the pile of laundry in the corner – he never, ever used the hamper, strictly on principle, it seemed – and ran his fingers through his hair. Harry watched the muscles in Ron's back work and felt something spark to life low in his gut.

Ron looked up as Harry's arms wrapped around him from behind, his fingertips trailing over the dusting of hair above his belly button. Ron sighed and leaned into Harry's embrace as Harry slid his palms up over his chest, then down to his groin.

"Thought you were too tired," said Ron.

Harry pressed his cheek to Ron's shoulder, inhaling deeply and savouring the scent of his skin. "Not for this."

Ron's shoulders shook in a silent chuckle, and his hands brushed over Harry's arms when he reached down to unbutton his trousers.

Harry brought his hands back to Ron's arse, pushing trousers and pants down and off, and then unbuttoned his own as Ron kicked them away.

Fully naked, Harry stepped in close, pressing himself against Ron's arse as he reached around and ran his fingers through the coarse hair surrounding the base of Ron's cock.

Ron groaned and leaned back just slightly, so that his hair tickled Harry's cheek.

Harry's cock nestled into Ron's cleft, and he sighed at the sensation of skin surrounded by hot skin, then gasped as Ron began rubbing up and down against him. The friction of it was damn near perfect, and Harry felt himself rocking to meet Ron's movements.

Harry's fingers were teasing at Ron's cock, stroking along its hot, heavy length and rubbing the foreskin over its head. He wrapped his fingers securely around Ron's shaft, which was met with a near-growl and a bucking of freckled hips, and Harry had to summon every ounce of self-restraint he had, not to frot madly to his release against Ron's arse immediately.

He took a deep breath and focused on the hot, velvety feel of Ron's cock against his palm, rather than the spiralling tension in his groin, and forced himself to step back slightly.

Keeping one hand at work on Ron's cock, Harry trailed his other hand over the arse cheeks before him, then slid his fingers between them, into the space where his cock had just been. Ron groaned and stepped his feet apart, widening his stance and lowering himself a little.

Harry smiled and brought his forehead to Ron's back as he whispered the spell, then rubbed his cool, slick fingers over and around his hole. An inviting noise rumbled deep in Ron's throat as Harry slipped one, and then two fingers easily inside. Ron pressed against Harry's hand encouragingly, and it wasn't long before Harry felt the muscle around his fingers relax, and Ron pressed his hands against the wall and angled his arse just so.

Harry slicked his cock and aligned himself, gripping at Ron's hips as he pressed the head of his cock inside. He pushed in slowly, all the way up into Ron's body, and Ron's fingers flexed against the wall, the fingernails flushing white as he groaned. Harry's head fell against Ron shoulder, and he let out a deep sigh into the crook of his neck.

Harry closed his eyes and drew breath through his nose, concentrating on the feel of the air flowing in and out, and the press of his fingers against Ron's pelvis. The feel of Ron around his cock, tight and slick and impossibly hot, was nearly too much, and it threatened to undo him as he fought to stay in control. He wanted nothing more right now than to fuck Ron long and slow and deep, and that really shouldn't have been too much to ask of a grown man, especially one who'd been inside this arse more times than he could count.

He skimmed his fingers down Ron's back, pressing his palms to pale, perfect hips, and pulled back, withdrawing slowly. He heard Ron's intake of breath and focused on the slide of ringed muscle along his length, towards the head of his cock, then back down as he pressed in again, as far as he could.

Ron brought one hand from the wall and met Harry's on his hip, wrapping his long fingers around Harry's wrist. Harry groaned as he thrust into him once, twice, three more times, and felt something feral rise up inside him. His field of vision seemed to blur a little, and the room began to fall away until all that Harry could see or hear or feel was Ron. His fingers dug into Ron's skin as his hips picked up speed, and he felt sweat prickling at his hairline.

He only vaguely registered Ron's hand move back to the wall, bracing himself against Harry's thrusts. Harry's fingers began to slip against Ron's skin as their sweat mingled. He gripped all the harder, groaning when Ron hissed his appreciation, and rode the sensations building and coiling and spiralling inside him, clenched his arse and tried to get even further inside of Ron as he clung and thrust and thrust and thrust until suddenly he was coming, flying and falling and emptying himself into Ron, his legs numb as his forehead fell against Ron's sweaty back, and the world went black and silent except for the thunderous rhythm of his own breath.

When he opened his eyes, his glasses were askew, and the room was out of focus as his and Ron's breaths came in heavy, marching time together. He slid his hands forward along sweat-slick skin, rubbing his flat palms over Ron's stomach, and stepped even closer, leaning in flush against his back. He tried to pull himself even closer as he slid one hand off Ron's chest, over his shoulder and up into his hair, where he felt the damp heat of Ron's scalp against his fingertips.

  
A spent, sated sensation seeped out into his limbs, and he wanted to take it back, wanted to push the feeling away and go back to the beginning, so he could do it properly. He sighed into the hot press of their bodies and twisted his fingers more deeply into Ron's hair, burying his nose into the nape of Ron's neck.

"You OK?" Ron asked quietly.

Harry looked up and blinked at the side of Ron's flushed face.

"Yeah," he said, leaning up to press a kiss to the hollow behind Ron's ear.

With his nose still tucked into Ron's neck, Harry reached down and took Ron's cock in his hand. He gave only light, almost teasing strokes at first, but Ron's body seemed about as interested in slow and languorous as Harry's had been. Ron pushed recklessly into Harry's hand as Harry found his rhythm, licking his lips and grunting in time to the strokes. Harry fisted his fingers in Ron's hair more tightly and gently pulled his head back and down a bit, so Ron's head was nearly resting on his shoulder.

It didn't take long, as Harry slid his hand up and down Ron's cock with practised ease, for Ron to go stiff in Harry's arms as his cock jerked. Harry knew just the look that was on his face as the spray from his cock hit the wall, and it was a good thing that Harry was a lot stronger than he looked, as Ron's sagged into his arms.

He could feel Ron's heart against his chest, thumping wildly out of time with his ragged breath, and Harry concentrated on the slowing rhythm of both as he circled his arms around Ron's waist securely and licked at the sweat on his neck.

"Bed?" Ron asked, after a few minutes, his voice rough. Harry rubbed his lips against a cluster of freckles before giving a small nod against Ron's shoulder.

Under the covers, with Ron's arm slung across his back and Ron's breath in his hair, Harry gave in to the sleepiness settling over him, and closed his eyes. Somewhere in that space just before sleep, he heard Ron whisper, "Tomorrow'll be better."

Harry murmured his agreement, buried his face in the crook of Ron's shoulder, and fell asleep.


End file.
